Drive The Bus. Yesterday while walking to the subway, I got stuck behind a father and his young son who looked to be about 4 years old. They were doing what a good parent does best with a 4 year old, let them set the pace. Surprisingly there is an abundance of snow piled along the sidewalk curbs and against the buildings which narrows the available walking path. As we were walking in train fashion, there were a few pigeons foraging along the inside of the sidewalk, for whatever they could find to eat. The father chatted to the boy about the activity. At last an opportunity to pass them came, and as I went by the father suddenly said, “Don’t let the pigeon drive the bus”. I had to turn around and say that it was my favorite book! He! smiled, and his boy just kept looking at the busy pigeons. For whom are children’s books written anyway?